It had not disappointed.
Mrs. Bennington.
Sixteen
Harry was home in time the following morning to sit down for an early breakfast with them. Their leaving together this morning felt a bit like abandonment, and they both told him so in their own way. But he would have none of it.
“Abby,” he said when she teared up after being told that the carriage was already before the doors, being loaded with their bags, “you stayed here because you wanted to be at home, not because I needed you. I have loved having you. I always will love it. But you must rid yourself of the notion that I might fade away without your being here. I am sorry if that sounds a bit brutal.”
Then he turned to his friend. “As for you, Gil, to be honest with you I do not know if I actually would have come to Hinsford and stayed if you had not said you would come with me. I suppose I would have gone to London and hated it. I did need you during that journey even though I also had Avery and Alexander. And I needed you for a few weeksafterward—I know that. But no longer. I would have been happy to have you here indefinitely as a friend, but I do notneedyou. I still sometimes feel as weak as a kitten, but alargekitten growing larger every day, not the runt of the litter. I have everything I need here—people to cater to my every need, things with which to occupy myself, friends, neighbors.”
There were more tears out on the terrace half an hour or so later. Abby clung to Harry, both laughing and crying.
“Goose,” he said. “Go and be happy, Ab, and I willstayand be happy. No, really. I do not envy you going to London. And facing everything that is awaiting you there. I’ll think about you from the peace of my own home. Let me know what happens.”
“I will,” she promised. “Take care of yourself, Harry. At least I know you are safe. Oh, I cannot tell you how happy I am to know that.”
“Goose,” he said again as she turned away and Gil handed her into the carriage.
“I am a bit of a careless fellow,” Harry said, “but my family is precious to me, Gil.”
“I will look after her,” Gil promised, keeping his voice low. “I am not using herjustas a means of getting my daughter back.” He hoped he was telling the truth.
“I have had a couple of sleepless nights, I am telling you,” Harry said, “remembering that I was the one who suggested it.”
“Then you may sleep well tonight,” Gil said. “I am very glad you did suggest it. I shall return the carriage tomorrow. And your groom.” The groom was going to ride his horse during the journey. Gil would purchase a carriage of his own and more horses in London.
A few minutes later Gil was handing a large handkerchiefto Abby to replace the ridiculously small thing with which she was dabbing at her eyes as the carriage moved from her childhood home.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice tearful as she spread it over her face. “He is right. Iama goose.”
Beauty woofed from the seat opposite.
Just a very few weeks ago she had chosen to stay at Hinsford so that she could enjoy its quiet familiarity. Now already she was leaving behind both those things. She had married Gil, someone she scarcely knew, and was heading into a vast uncertainty. All she knew about their immediate future was that it was bound to be unpleasant. She had her family to face, for one thing. And then all the nasty business with his lawyer and his former in-laws. She blew her nose, tucked his handkerchief away in a pocket of her cloak, and turned a smiling, rather red-blotched face toward him.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I hate goodbyes.”
He thought perhaps it was more than the goodbye she was hating. He guessed that reality was hitting her this morning. As it was him. He took her hand in his and held it on the seat between them. Conversation, he thought.Conversation.
Beauty was offering no help. She had laid her chin on her paws and closed her eyes.
“Rose Cottage,” he told her, “seems to have come honestly by half its name at least. It is a house of mellow yellowish stone with big windows and a great deal of natural light within. There are twelve bedchambers upstairs and... but I have not counted the number of rooms downstairs. I would have to think about it. They are large and spacious, though. It is not really a cottage of course. Far from it. The gardenis not really big enough to be called a park, but it is large, and it is filled with flower beds, unlike Hinsford’s, as well as lawns and trees. There is no lake. But there is a rose arbor on one side of the house, or, rather, a rosegarden, all arches and trellises and secluded seating areas. I wish I could describe the colors and the smells, but I lived there only during the winter months and very early spring. I saw snowdrops and primroses in the grass to the east of the house and a few daffodils. I employ gardeners known for their skill with flowers. I imagine it is all very beautiful now and will be for several more months.”
He had set out to distract her and seemed to have succeeded. Her face was turned toward him and she was still smiling, but no longer just bravely. There was warmth in the expression.
“It sounds lovely,” she said.
“It is,” he assured her. “It is on the outer edge of a village with farmland behind it. Not as big as the farm at Hinsford, but it is busy and prosperous. I have a good manager.”
“I look forward to going there,” she said.
“Some people look forward to going to heaven after they die,” he said. “For years after I purchased it, Rose Cottage was the earthly heaven to which I aspired.”
“It was your dream,” she said. “But you have actually lived there for only a few winter months?”
“I took Caroline there in 1814, after Toulouse,” he said. “Katy was born there. I took her to see the roses. But of course they were not nearly in bloom and she was but a tiny baby anyway. And then, before theydidbloom, I was called away for what culminated in the Battle of Waterloo. I made the biggest mistake of my life in going, one for which I am even now being punished.”
Their clasped hands were on her lap, he realized suddenly. She must have moved them there. She was holding his hand with both her own.
